Fallout: Never Fade Away
by Bad-Nano
Summary: An ex-soldier cryogenically imprisoned before the Great War wakes up to a terrifying new world where survival is of the utmost importance...
1. Chapter 1

**FALLOUT: NEVER FADE AWAY**

**By Bad-Nano**

Chapter One: About Face

**United States Disciplinary Barracks**

**Alcatraz Island aka "The Rock"**

**Tribunal Room One**

**August 13****th****, 2077 (Two Months Before The Great War)**

The prisoner shuffled along the marbled flooring, his hands and feet manacled with heavy chains. His movement was further hampered by the sixteen gauge belly chain that connected the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. To ensure his compliance, two beefy MPs armed with 10mm Remington Bushwhacker Sub-machine guns and remotes to the shock collar around the prisoner's neck accompanied him. Although he was secured by restraints and escorted by guards, everyone who looked into the prisoner's eyes could see the hate and rage seething inside him. The precautions were necessary due to the fact that the prisoner escaped from no less than ten military detention facilities and killed enough MPs to fill a whole section of Arlington National Cemetery. The prisoner was no ordinary criminal.

Until recently, he was this nation's greatest hero.

Captain Joshua Jackson Mercer, former commander of F Troop, 24th Squadron, 7th Mechanized Cavalry Regiment found himself roughly pushed down onto a chair by one of the MPs. He sat next to a bespectacled young JAG officer whose nameplate read "Bisbee". At least the weenie is wearing Army green, Captain Mercer thought to himself.

Looking over the lawyer's shoulder boards, Mercer groaned. The boards displayed the single gold bar of a Second Lieutenant. Goddamned JAG HQ couldn't send me someone equal to my own rank?

The sound of the sergeant-at-arms voice announcing that the tribunal was now in session cut into the prisoner's thoughts as three somber flag-rank officers filed into the courtroom and took their seats behind a long mahogany table. Three generals, smartly attired in hand-tailored dress uniforms, passed a pitcher of water amongst themselves to quench their thirst before the sentencing began. All three deliberately ignored the hunched over prisoner seated before them. While all three generals admired the accomplishments of the captain, they could not look over the grave offenses he committed months ago. It would be bad for morale. Discipline at all costs must be maintained in the ranks, especially during a war.

General Roland Maxson called the tribunal to order. It saddened him to bear such terrible duty, especially since the prisoner before him saved the life of his son, Roger, during the intense fighting along the Anchorage Front Line. The Chinese 6th Route Army had captured Roger in a surprise raid in Juno and were readying him for transport to Beijing when Captain Mercer led a small force equipped with T-51b Power Armor to rescue him. For that action, Captain Mercer was awarded the Medal of Honor.

General Maxson personally placed the medal around Captain Mercer's neck. Now I get the thankless job of either sentencing him to be executed or imprisoned, the general thought to himself. I'll either make him a martyr or I'll condemn an excellent soldier for following his conscience.

"Captain Joshua J. Mercer, you have been charged with a number of violations of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. As I read each charge, you will enter a plea of guilty or not guilty."

The prisoner did not reply to General Maxson's statement. Lieutenant Bisbee merely nodded his head in agreement.

"On the violation of Article 88; Contempt Towards Public Officials, what is the defendant's plea?", asked General Maxson.

"Guilty.", replied Lieutenant Bisbee. It was publicly known that Captain Mercer had made disparaging remarks about how the war effort was being handled in Alaska and China. His comments were heard on Galaxy News Network both on the radio and on television. Not a smart career move for a combat officer looking to advance through the ranks.

"On the violation of Article 92; Failure To Obey Orders From A Superior Officer, how does the defendant plea?"

"Guilty." Captain Mercer was filmed refusing to fire upon demonstrators in Grant Park who were just voicing their dissent on the forced annexation of Canada. He was recorded on both video and audio ordering his troops to ignore a colonel's order to disperse the crowd.

"On the violation of Article 90; Assaulting A Superior Officer, how does the defendant plea?"

"Guilty." On the same footage, Captain Mercer drew his AEP7 laser pistol and shot the martinet colonel in the head. After reducing the colonel to ash, Mercer and his troops engaged both Army and Chicago PD units who had begun a systematic massacre of the protestors. Lieutenant Bisbee woefully shook his head.

"On the violation of Article 118; Murder, how does the defendant plea?"

"Guilty." Again, the footage was a matter of public record.

"On the violation of Article 85; Desertion, how does the defendant plea?"

"Guilty." Captain Mercer and his troops did leave Chicago after looting a National Guard armory for replacement parts, supplies, and weapons. None of the other members of F Troop were ever arrested except for Mercer. None of the equipment was ever recovered either.

"On the violation of Article 95; Resistance, Flight, and Escape how does the defendant plea?"

"Guilty." After deserting in January, Captain Mercer remained at large until he was captured by Army CID special agents in Kingston, Arizona on March 19th this year.

General Maxson removed his reading glasses then covered the microphone in front of him. There was an animated discussion between himself and the other two generals. Lieutenant Bisbee was busy making notes on his pad as Captain Mercer stared blankly at a wall behind the generals.

After a few more minutes, General Maxson removed his hand from the mike and placed his glasses back on. He punched in some codes on the DataPlex 2000 SmarTerminal then rendered the prisoner's sentence.

"Will the defendant please rise?" General Maxson was pleased that Captain Mercer shook off the MP's hand and stood in the position of attention even while manacled.

"Captain Mercer, you have been charged with serious crimes against the nation and the United States Army. This tribunal finds you guilty of all charges. Although the normal penalty for these crimes is summary execution, in light of your service to your country the sentence has been reduced to life imprisonment with no possibility of parole. You will serve out your sentence at the United States Disciplinary Barracks at Camp Tibbets, Kansas. This tribunal is now adjourned."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Doing Hard Time

**United States Disciplinary Barracks**

**Camp Tibbets aka "The Cube", Kansas**

**Initial Processing Station**

**August 15****th****, 2077 **

The VB-02 Vertibird transport circled the prison once then landed according to precise instructions from the guard tower. Mk2 25mm gun turrets and Mohawk missile launchers followed the transport until it finally settled onto the helipad. Once the pilot powered down the Vertibird, he informed his passengers that they now had permission to leave the aircraft. Captain Mercer was roused from his nap by a black MP who gently nudged his shoulder.

"Rise and shine, Cap'n. We've arrived at your new home, suh."

Mercer looked at Camp Tibbets with total disinterest. He had heard the scuttlebutt around the various yards that "The Cube" was one maximum-security prison that lived up to its reputation. Within its fortress-like walls was 22.8 square acres of cells, exercise yard, infirmary, library, mess hall, even a mini-university that offered courses in barber school and GED. One of his former commanding officers told Mercer that a DARPA contractor, Vault-Tec, operated three factories on-site using prisoners as skilled labor. Something to look forward to if I ever really got bored, Mercer sullenly thought to himself.

The MPs walked alongside Mercer until they reached the cog-like secure entrance to the Initial Processing Station.

The black MP, Sergeant Williams, spoke into the intercom: "Prisoner Detail Alpha Nine, Code Green, requesting permission to enter 'The Cube'."

After a ten-second delay, a metallic voice replied. "Prisoner Detail Alpha Nine, ID confirmed. Permission granted. Please stay within the yellow lines. Any failure to follow instructions will result in the use of lethal force."

The cog-like steel entrance clicked once as titanium bolts three-meters wide retracted into their tubes and the door rolled back. Waiting inside the entrance were two Protectrons painted in Olive-Drab with a single white star on their torsos. The hum of activated energy weapons could be heard as the muzzles of their lasers faintly glowed red. A soldier dressed in a black jumpsuit and riot helmet stepped forward. Mercer took note of the Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum revolver, speed-loaders, and the worn hickory nightstick holstered on his gunbelt. This isn't going to be a cake walk, Mercer thought to himself. I might actually have a challenge on my hands. For the first time in months, he actually smiled.

Sergeant Williams handed over a holodisk to the other soldier who inserted it into his PipBoy. The soldier read the orders and looked at Captain Mercer. Mercer smiled at him like a shark circling a minnow. On the soldier's nametag was "Warner". His collar insignia identified him as a major. Keeping his right hand over the butt of his .44 Magnum revolver, Major Warner walked towards Mercer. The major jabbed Mercer in the solar plexus with his nightstick.

While Mercer was doubled over in pain, Major Warner whispered in his ear. "I don't give a goddamned rat's ass about your awards, yardbird. You're a traitor and won't be getting any preferential treatment just 'cause you won the Blue Max, boy. You're ass belongs to me now."

That's the last thing Mercer heard before Major Warner hit him with the nightstick again.

When Mercer woke up, he was sprawled out on a twin-sized bed in his cell. He saw a sink and a stainless-steel toilet. Mercer went to the sink to rinse his mouth out, grateful the water was ice-cold. The only other furniture in the cell was a simple wood desk and chair. On the desk were a pencil and some paper. Outside his cell door was the last person he wanted to see ever again. Captain Roger Maxson, his one-time friend and fellow officer who also just happened to be screwing his girlfriend behind his back.

"So are you here to gloat asshole? Why don't you step inside here so we can catch up on old times, Rog?" Mercer growled.

Captain Roger Maxson shook his head sadly. They had attended Officer Candidate School, the Power Armor Basic and Advanced Course, and Ranger School together. During the bloody days along the Anchorage Front Line they fought alongside each other. Their friendship came to an end when Mercer walked in on his girlfriend Ann doing the horizontal mambo with him. They hadn't spoken to each other in a year.

"I'll think I'll pass, pal. Don't make this any harder than it already is. Damn it all to hell, Josh! Why? Why did you throw away your career?", asked Roger.

Mercer looked up at his ex-friend. Then he grinned evilly and flipped the bird towards his comrade.

"Fuck you, Roger. And you can say the same to that whore Ann. I should have let the Chinese Army bugger your ass six ways from Sunday. I don't need to give you an answer, you sorry-ass backstabber!"

That was the last time Maxson and Mercer saw each other before the bombs fell.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Stalemate

**United States Disciplinary Barracks**

**Camp Tibbets aka "The Cube", Kansas**

**August 30****th****, 2077 **

Captain Mercer lined up his shot and released the basketball into the air. It flew twenty feet towards the basket and made a satisfying *swish!* as the ball hit nothing but net. Mercer grinned at his opponent, a hulking brute called 'Moose' Jenkins. 'Moose' tipped the scales at 300 pounds and benched twice that at the yard's weight pile. A year ago, an inmate made the mistake of riling up the big man who mistook 'Moose's' gentle nature for weakness. The offending inmate was discovered the next day in the showers with a cinder block jammed in his bunghole and drooling like a retard. No one in the stockade ever messed with 'Moose' after that. Mercer and 'Moose' got along well since both were skilled players on the court.

"Damn, Moose! You slowing down or what? I've won three in a row.", said Mercer as he took a swig from the bottle of purified water.

"Screw you, you honky-tonk hustler! If 'ya didn't hip-check me on that last shot, you'd be the one owing me twenty cartons of smokes.", replied 'Moose' as he dried himself off with a doo-rag.

While both men continued with their trash-talking, Major Warner was scanning the grounds with a pair of Bushnell binoculars. He was still wearing the standard black jumpsuit with Cochran boots and his collar insignia shone brightly after it was buffed with Brasso. The corrections officer watched Mercer and 'Moose' intently as they spoke. Too bad I don't have an eyebot handy, Warner thought to himself.

The fact that Mercer continued to exist irked him. The captain was proving to be difficult to kill but it wasn't for lack of trying. Two zoot-suit pimps he ordered to shiv the captain were decapitated and their heads staked on lead pipes in the laundry room.

A few days later, an intoxicated Boozefighter MC one-precenter was shredded by a bottlecap mine placed underneath his bunk and set off by a pressure plate. He made the mistake of cursing out Mercer's mother in the middle of the library.

Warner even resorted to using a Chinese assassin captured in Alaska providing him with a dart gun and ammo laced with puffer-fish poison. A guard detail found the assassin stuffed in a trash can; his face was bloated from being shot in the face with fifteen darts. The pistol and the remaining ammo were never recovered. Captain Mercer definitely was living up to his formidable reputation.

As he continued to monitor the inmates on the exercise yard, Major Warner was approached in the guard tower by a man in a grey pinstripe suit. An annoyed look crossed the major's face; he really wished the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff would limit the influence Vault-Tec exerted here in Camp Tibbets. He especially wished that Dr. Sydney Barrows would take his pompous, egg-head ass somewhere else. The middle-aged scientist always managed to be in Warner's presence when it was the least welcome. Warner grunted his acknowledgement of Vault-Tec's senior researcher and turned around to face him. Dr. Barrows pushed his horn-rimmed glasses back onto his nose as he finished dictating his notes into a Lil' Pip 3000 wrist unit.

"Dr. Barrows. So what brings you to the crow's nest today?"

"Good morning, Major Warner. I am here to discuss my need for new test subjects. There are several projects that are stalled because you have failed yet again to procure live humans for us to experiment on. So, when can my researchers expect a new delivery eh?"

"I don't need to remind you, sir, that every prisoner we 'provide' you needs to be accounted for. While Vault-Tec has made a significant contribution to this facility, Camp Tibbets is still administered by the federal government, in this case the Army. I'm the base commander and I will let you know when I will have new guinea pigs for you to play with. Are there any other questions or concerns for me, doctor?"

"No, major, there isn't. Just remember that while you command this base, you still have to answer to a higher authority. It's in your best interests to co-operate with me if you don't want to find yourself with new orders to report to the Sichuan theatre, hmmm?"

Satisfied that Major Warner was suitably cowed, Dr. Barrows turned on his heels and left the guard tower. As the Vault-Tec researcher walked out, the major was thinking about arranging a suitable accident for the good doctor that couldn't be traced back to him. This wasn't the Super-Duper Mart where you could just place an order for people, asswipe. Although he was a sadist, Major Warner still felt a need to keep up appearances.

As he watched Mercer finish his pickup game with 'Moose' Jenkins at the basketball court, an idea started to form in Warner's devious mind. Maybe there's still a way to kill two birds with a single stone, the major thought to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Riot in Cell Block K

_**Interlude: Brotherhood of Steel HQ**_

_**Lost Hills Bunker, New California Republic**_

_**March 19**__**th**__**, 2135 ( Fifty-eight years after the Great War )**_

The scribes finished recording the last will and testament of the High Elder. They collected their journals and notebooks, checked their PipBoys, and quietly filed out of the dimly-lit infirmary. The High Elder was dying and the doctors didn't know how much time that he had left. The cancer had run its course and ravaged the eighty-eight year-old leader's body. Although he took an inordinate amount of painkillers, the High Elder's mind was still clear. His word and will remained law within the Brotherhood.

"Come in my son. I have been expecting you.", croaked the High Elder.

Paladin Roger Maxson II marched in past the guards and took his father's hand. While the paladin maintained a stoic face, the tears streaming down from his eyes betrayed the turmoil in his heart. The High Elder smiled at his namesake. He knew that his time was short and there was much that his son needed to know before he passed away. The information would be crucial to the Brotherhood's survival and for the redemption of his soul.

"What news do you bring me from the Council of Elders?"

The younger Maxson sat down beside his father. "The Council is divided over your proposal to recruit tribals in exchange for technology is meeting stiff resistance. There are rumors being spread that you are no longer fit to command us."

The High Elder barked out a harsh laugh. He knew that there would be dissent among the Council over the sharing of technology with outsiders.

"Do not worry my son. I know that the proposal was going to incite controversy among the hard-liners. As long as I draw breath within my scarred lungs, I still lead the Brotherhood. None of the other Elders will dare oppose me. I can still strangle a man with my bare hands!"

That statement caused the younger Maxson to smile. Even though he knew his father's hands were twisted by arthritis. The old man still has balls. Big brass ones…

"I know that my time grows short, Roger. You will be confirmed as the next High Elder when I pass into the great beyond. Tell me, do you still read our gospel?"

Roger Maxson II had a puzzled look on his face. The Maxson Gospel was required reading for every Initiate of the Brotherhood. Even after the Initiate advances through the ranks, the Gospel reminded them of their purpose and their principles. The High Elder grinned at the confusion on his son's face.

"Yes, I do father. Why would you ask me that?"

The High Elder had a merry twinkle in his eyes. "Indulge me , my son. What does Chapter nine, verses eighteen to twenty-one say?"

Roger Maxson II searched his memory for the passages. He remembered his days as an Initiate and the rigorous testing, both physical and mental, to determine his fitness for entry into the Brotherhood's ranks. The endless days and nights of forced marches, shooting various weapons at the ranges, and classroom instruction in the history and purpose of the Brotherhood. Then the words came to him:

"There will be a reckoning where brother will fight amongst brother and our ranks shall be split asunder. From the smoke and ashes, a great warrior-king shall appear on the horizon armored in gold and silver. He is invincible smiting man and beast, bringing fire and thunder. All praise his almighty name, the hero who will reunite our order…"

_**End Interlude**_

**United States Disciplinary Barracks**

**Camp Tibbets aka 'The Cube', Kansas**

**September 23****rd****, 2077 (One month before the Great War)**

The mess hall was filled to capacity today. Mercer waited patiently in line for a plate full of biscuits 'n gravy, sausage, and scrambled eggs. He thought it was unusual for all six hundred sixty-six prisoners to be eating breakfast at the same time. The Cube's inmates were rotated in three shifts for each meal. Why in the world Major Warner would allow every one of these hardcases to be gathered together in one area was beyond him. He took his plate of steaming food and coffee from the serving line to the table where 'Moose' Jenkins was busy chowing down.

"So what's the word , captain? Any idea why the powers-that-be are allowing us degenerates to break bread with each other all at the same time?"

Mercer took a sip of his coffee. His eyes slowly panned around the room. No protectrons or sentry bots today. There should have been at least two by each of the entrances. Only five MPs in the hall but they're all armed with shock prods, no other sidearms. Something's in the wind, Mercer thought to himself. Something's definitely wrong here.

"Moose, listen up. Warner's got something cooked up and it's going to bite us both in the ass. Pass the word down the line: get ready for the shit to hit the fan."

While the larger man continued to eat, he used sign language to pass Mercer's message along to the members of his old unit, the 761st Vertibird Assault Squadron, the Black Hawks. They nodded their thanks and moved off in separate directions. Mercer started in on his breakfast. He double-checked the shiv that was concealed in his waistband. If anything was going to happen, it was going to happen soon.

Mercer trusted Lieutenant Michael 'Moose' Jenkins and his Black Hawks. They were awarded the Valorous Unit Citation for their actions at the Siege of Fort Richardson back at the Anchorage Front Line. For thirty days straight, the Black Hawks flew re-supply and fire support missions to assist the defenders against the formidable Taipei Brigade. Even though the VB-01 Vertibird gunships and transports experienced frequent breakdowns, the crews and mechanics of the 761st continued their missions. The Taipei Brigade was so decimated at Fort Richardson that Beijing's Central Military Commission ordered their colors to be burned and its surviving commanders executed for their failure. 'Moose' Jenkins should have received the Medal of Honor but was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross instead. Like Mercer, Jenkins also refused to fire upon innocent civilians who didn't pose an imminent threat to national security.

'Moose' whispered to Mercer. "If we get a chance, we probably should make a break for it. Warner's such a scumbag he'd make sure both of us were smoked. Both of us know that redneck peckerwood probably planned this blanket party."

Mercer continued to watch the entrances. "Roger that. If we get a chance." It was then that the MPs exited the mess hall and the *clink!* of the locks securing the mess hall that caught everyone's attention.

Then the mess hall exploded with violence.

A Hells Angels member took his shiv and drove it into the neck of a La Costa Nostra underboss. Arterial spray drenched everyone with blood from the dying Sicilian.

Several of the mess hall employees at the serving line disappeared under the crushing weight of enraged prisoners who beat them down with fists and feet. Those unfortunate females caught up in the riot had their clothes torn off and gang-raped repeatedly. The Swedish chef was sodomized by a tranny and then dismembered by a serial killer. Other fights were breaking out at all seating areas of the mess hall.

'Moose 'Jenkins and his Black Hawks cut a swath through the crowds to reach the north entrance. A 21k Triad gangster aimed a 'zip' gun at Mercer. The ex-captain grabbed a metal plate and threw it at the assassin. Mercer saw the plate's edge smash the gangster's larynx; the man crumpled to the floor. Dozens of hands grabbed at the fallen weapon.

The Black Hawks engaged a number of Grim Reaper MC outriders as both Jenkins and Mercer fought their way to the north entrance. Jenkins broke the back of one prisoner in a powerful bear hug then used the corpse to club away other inmates. Mercer used a flat palm strike that instantly killed a captain of the Chicago Outfit. Pulling out the shiv from his coverall's waistband, Mercer shanked another prisoner in the chest. He joined 'Moose' and his men at the north entrance.

"It's time to blow this popsicle stand, brother." 'Moose' had grin on his face.

"No kidding. Let's get out of here before anyone else wants to ask us for a dance." ,replied Mercer.

In his office, Major Warner watched the riot continue unabated through the Cube's surveillance cameras. He sipped his ice cold Nuka-Cola and was looking forward to the next act of this little drama.


End file.
